


Death Likes You

by fxhound



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grim Reapers, M/M, Meet-Cute, maybe not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxhound/pseuds/fxhound
Summary: Bucky can't explain the pull he feels whenever he sees Steve. It shouldn't be a big problem on normal circumstances, but it's not good when his jobliterallykills!





	Death Likes You

**Author's Note:**

> AU: "You constantly have near death experiences because Death has a crush on you and wants to ask you out, but constantly balks at the last second."

Bucky wasn’t expecting the _thump thump_ from the good ol’ ticker when he looks down at the baby. He wasn’t even aware the rusty thing still worked. Imagine his surprise when he _hesitated_ when he’s done his job more than there’s actual hair on his head and legs combined.

The baby, having no care in the world, just gurgles up it’s own saliva like an uncultured little human and makes grabby hands at him.

Usually, one look at his dark clad uniform and people immediately know who he is and what’s going to happen next. And if the black robe with the hoodie doesn’t give it away, then the old pointy scythe and the grin tips it off. Even normal babies cry when they see him. 

This baby was still trying to reach for him. It’s obviously broken. Maybe the thing got dropped and hit it’s head when it was born? Humans sure are careless these days. 

He raised one eyebrow and the little potato just squeals louder like he just pulled a bunny out of his ass. 

Bucky raised his scythe again.  

“Steven Grant Rogers. Two months into the World,” He recites the facts like he’s reading a particularly boring article from the news paper. “Death of suffocation.”

Just as he finished the last word, the curtains from the window next to the crib collapsed down and efficiently covers the baby from head to toe. 

Bucky watched as the little thing start to squirm and struggle and soon enough, wails that sound more like wheezes fill the room. 

“What’s wrong? Can’t even cry for help?” He pokes the curtain covering the baby with the end of his stick. He listened as the wheezes slowly die down.  

Bucky watched and next thing he knew, panic was lurching in his throat. He’s gasping for air like someone punched his sternum and decided it’ll be a fun thing to keep grinding down on it. He doesn’t know why or what’s happening, all he knows is that he needed to get the damn curtain off of this baby.

He pulled sharply at the offending cloth, confused and baffled and scared for the first time in awhile.  

He stares at the breathing creature in front of him. Blue eyes calmly stare back at him, no sign of panic or fear on his face. He looked peaceful, laying there on his back. 

“What the fuck,” Bucky mutters as he tries to slow down his breathing, like he was the one who almost suffocated a few minutes ago.

He pulls out a small battered notebook and opens it where the red mark was clipped. He checked and double checks the Death of the Day list and finds that where one Steven Grant Roger’s name was supposed to be, was concealed with a poorly placed white-out on. Like a mistake on a homework.

He looks at the baby again. It was snoring softly now, like all this was an everyday occurrence and now it’s time for a nap.

“What the fuck.”

He hears the rattle of the door knob and he’s gone even before the door cracks open, leaving a sleeping peaceful baby next to the fluttering of an untouched window curtain.

 

__

 

 

He enters the red bus from a Brooklyn bus stop, pays the fee, and steps off at Hell.

The air is always musty, like someone just died, and he knows he’s home. 

Everyone has their eyes glued to their phone, shuffling to where they needed to go.

He takes out his notebook, sticks his own nose onto it, and walks the short distance to his destination two blocks away. He needs to report the Incident from this afternoon and it’s probably time to update his notebook. Maybe it _is_ time to buy a tech phone, especially since his boss has been poking fun of his outdated ways for the longest time.

He sees the red building that has definitely seen better days. The doors slide open when he walked in and the guy on the front desk beckons him over.

“Name.”

“J.B.B.”

_Click-Clack-Click-CLACK_ on the keyboard. 

“Ah, The Winter Soldier, sir. What can we do for you, sir?” He’s met with a plastic straight smile by— he squints at the name tag — Bobby.

“Well, I need to report something. Also funding. For something.” He really doesn’t wanna tell this guy anything. “I’m looking for Natasha. Romanoff.”

“Sir, you have no appointments so I can’t send you up, sir.” The guy says it apologetically without sounding apologetic, his plastic smile never cracking.

Bucky stares at the clerk straight in the eyes. Poor Bobby holds a below the average height with cheeks like he’s hiding acorns in them, curly hair flopping on his forehead. Poor Bobby’s even wearing round-rimmed glasses and you can see the deep pimple scars scattered on his face.

On usual days, when everything went according to his plan, he usually handled minor inconveniences like this with grace. But as it turned out, the Incident from this afternoon still needed answering and he decided today was _not a good day._

The temperature suddenly dropped, and everyone in the room felt chills and goosebumps behind their necks. The clerk cleared his throat, a crack on his smile. “I’m sure I can make some arrangements, sir. Sir, please have a seat,” then gestures to the waiting area where at least twenty people were waiting, subtly eyeing him.

He pats his robe free of dust, and gives the kid his best smile.

“Listen here, _Bobby…”_

Ten minutes later, he hears the sharp clip-clop of high heels on marbled floor heading straight to his direction. The magazine he’s reading off of the waiting area was actually pretty interesting. The view from the highest floor of the building was pretty impressive too.

Sooner than later, his beautiful boss, stands before him. He addresses her as such even though she has her hands on her hips like he’s some unruly kid that needs a beating.

“James.” Natasha spits his name out like it’s a really sour candy.

“Tash, I need a new phone.”

She looks at him like he’s a particularly stubborn gum stuck on her Louibi. “You knocked one of my employees out cold. Explain.”

So he does, but more importantly he tells her about the Incident from this afternoon. They’re sitting on her office now, the cold coffee she gave him growing cold by the second.

Bucky watched her from across the table where she’s busy typing away on her computer, looking like she’s hacking one of the most difficult mysteries out there, her brows knitted in focus. He can’t lie to himself that watching her act like this doesn’t make him nervous. He looks around her office for lack of anything to do, even though he’s been in that seat a thousand times. 

“I got a message from his guardian angel.” She suddenly speaks up, startling him a little bit.

“Who’s?”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” she says and he can feel his heart thumping really hard against his chest for whatever the fuck reason.

He prompts her to continue.

“Well, for starters, the human doesn’t have a permanent guardian. Anyways, the temporary one says the kid is an enigma. Too classified of a case for her, she said, so she’s just looking out for minor situations.” Natasha gives him a look, “no wonder she didn’t do anything when you came.”

It’s not uncommon not to have a permanent guardian but the kid is definitely an outlier. What happened was definitely not _normal._

_“_ Outlier.” He says, mulling the kid’s name over his head.

“Common.” She says, and looked him in the eyes.

The mist was getting thicker outside the window. Like someone snapping a string, the buzzing nerves and the rattling bones ceased in an instant. 

Silence followed, as if time decided to take a break and pause. It wasn’t weird, he didn’t feel an awkward moment or uncomfortable silence. Everything just—stopped.

“I think I’ll head home,” he finishes.

Natasha nods, “before you do, your rotation is DC. So finish whatever business you have in Brooklyn. You’ve stayed there longer than you should have.” 

It’s true he does like Brooklyn in particular. Something about the place just draws him calm. He likes the weather, the atmosphere. He thinks about the unfinished business he has.

“Give me three years.”

And then that’s that. He goes home and decides that today was a small hiccup in his schedule. A small road bump if you will, though when he placed his hand on his chest, he feels the faint _thump thump_ that was becoming more familiar, and finds this alright somehow. 

He wakes up, goes to work, goes home. Rinse and repeat for three years in his city. 

On his last day in Brooklyn, sitting at the dog park next to the old man telling war stories about how his men were a bunch of assholes, he sees the bounce of gold hair pass him before he realised who it was. 

“My, my.” He couldn’t help his surprise.

The little kid was running around with a golden retriever, throwing a red disk as far as his little arms can throw. 

Bucky felt a nagging tug on his chest, though familiar as it was, he still couldn’t explain it.

The old man nudges him with his elbow. “I didn’t know you can smile.”

And he didn’t mean it, not yet at least, but the scythe balanced vertically on his thigh swiftly went downwards and the veteran slumped back. 

“Ah, shit.” 

Bucky was finishing typing his report on his phone when a familiar red disk hits him in the head. 

He picks it up off the ground and his eyes meets blues when he lifts his head. 

One Steven Grant Rogers was staring at him like the first time Bucky ever saw him. Except this time, the other party is definitely, undoubtedly, reciprocating the stare.

_Thump thump._

Was he nervous? About what, he wasn’t sure. Bucky thinks there’s no way this kid is actually staring at him. It’s not possible, no way, they aren’t _supposed_ to be seen. But clearly, _he_ is wrong, because the kid smiles at him with a toothy grin, holding up it’s tiny hand for the disk.

Bucky audibly gulps, and with a shaking hand, hands over the toy. 

“Here you go, one Steven Grant Rogers,” he said with uncertainty.

The boy scrunches up it’s nose, and isn’t that an amusing face, and haughtily replies, “It’s Steve,” like it’s a fact that _he_ should already know. 

As if on cue, someone from afar yells the name, and before Bucky has time to panic, he’s gone faster than you can say ‘what in the name of Satan’, leaving a dead body and an outlier of a kid.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a plan to make this lengthy but it didn't really work out. Didn't really wanna delete this so hopefully it wasn't too much all over the place!


End file.
